Chapter 8 #2
The post was a meme made from a picture of Kayla talking, her mouth wide open, her wet braids dripping over Lucas’s tattered shirt, next to a photo of Annalise on a yacht drinking a fancy drink with a frilly tiny umbrella, embellished with the caption: “When you run into your ex, and they’re living with their parent, but your bank account is six figures. ”
The post had already gotten 200 likes, all from former classmates and even some teachers.
I didn’t dare open the comments section.
There was already a 70/30 chance Kayla was going to have an aneurysm from the photo; I didn’t want to risk the odds of her seeing the biting words of teenage-brained adults who didn’t have anything better to do than mock a former classmate.
Kayla hastily flung herself onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. Through pillow-muffled cries, she screamed, “Oh, God, please let the floor swallow me whole!”
I tried to offer some comfort. “Come on, Kayla, you’ve survived worse. Remember the time you forgot to wear underwear to the homecoming dance? I’m pretty sure you twirling around in that ridiculous tulle dress, commando, is worse than a little post.”
Kayla turned her head, still fused to the couch cushion, to glare at me. “Thank you for reminding me about that. I feel so much better now.”
I said, tried. I tried to offer comfort. But comfort was not my job in this friend group.
“Lucas.” I tagged him into the ring.
“Yeah, yeah, I got her.” He went to the couch and gently lifted Kayla’s head off the cushion before softly placing his body where her face used to be.
Then, as swiftly as a ballroom dance, he returned her head to his lap, and his long arm wrapped around her.
Lucas moved so effortlessly around Kayla that it seemed his body responded before his brain reacted to pull away.
Kayla didn’t flinch or acknowledge his presence; she exhaled slowly and quietly, as if his touch had steadied something fragile within her.
They seemed to be on autopilot, programmed to respond to each other's touch.
I bit the crust off my pizza violently. “We need alcohol.”
I dragged my weary body up and walked over to the locked cabinet next to the fireplace.
Squatting down, I reached under the cabinet door, running my fingers over the slightly splintered wood until they found a piece of tape holding a metal key.
I quickly removed it and pulled it out from under the furniture.
“It's been fourteen years, and they still haven't changed their hiding spot.” I inserted the key into the cold brass lock and turned it clockwise until I heard the familiar click.
I opened the doors and took out the vodka.
“Monica and Dad are going to kill you.” Lucas rolled his eyes.
“Why? We’re old now. This is the first time I’ve broken into this cabinet when I’ve been legal.”
Lucas’s eyebrows rose, and his mouth parted, ready to rebut my statement, but then he stopped and nodded slightly. “You’re right.”
What did he say? I can one hundred percent guarantee that my jaw hit the floor. “Could you say that a bit louder, please?” I pressed my hand to my ear, urging him to inflate my ego further.
“Just hand me that before I change my mind.” Lucas reached out for the bottle, which I handed him with glee. He opened it and took a huge gulp. “Here.” He lowered the bottle to Kayla, who was still resting her head on his lap. “You need this more than me.”
Leaning up slightly, Kayla chugged the clear liquid, gulping it down like water out of a fountain. Then she passed the now backwash-infested drink to me and sighed. “High school was like five years ago; why does it feel like I’m fourteen again?”
I wiped the spit off the bottle’s rim before sucking the liquid down, the burning sensation causing my chest to heat like a pressure cooker.
“Because high school was a battlefield of hormonal social climbers clawing and killing each other to fit in.” I swigged the stinging liquid again. “And now we all have PTSD.”
Lucas reached for the largest slice of pizza in the box. “What did you all want to be before the world told you who to become?” he asked as his fingers ripped a slice of burnt pepperoni off the cheese.
Kayla was the first to answer. “Travel Photographer.” A little smile turned her lips up, but it wasn’t happy—it was almost pitiful. “That’s what I wanted.” She gazed at the ceiling. “I wanted to see the world and for the world to see me.”
Lucas gazed down at Kayla, his eyes holding hers as if they were the only two people on earth. “Why didn’t you do that after high school?”
“Because my dad always said a degree was the only way to succeed. I guess I didn’t want to let him down.”
I almost hacked on the vodka, burning my tongue. “Your dad must be really proud of me. I have an English degree, and the only job that answered my resume was from an adult toy store looking for a D-cup sales lady.”
Lucas choked on the cheese of his pizza. “Please tell me you didn’t interview for that.”
“I’m on their schedule for Wednesday.” The absurdity of the situation caused me to topple over in a heap of self-deprecating laughter, which was quickly joined by everyone else.
“What about you, Lucas? What did the little soldier boy want to be growing up?” I asked, hoping not to be the only loser in the room.
“I wanted to be a foreign correspondent.”
Kayla shook her head. “What child dreams about that?” She chuckled.
“I’m not sure if I ever dreamed it. It just seemed like a smart, logical job that would pay well and allow me to travel. It was practical.” He paused, reflecting. “But now that I look back, I wonder what I would have wanted to be if I had allowed myself to dream.”
The vulnerability in Lucas’s voice was sobering.
He never doubted his decisions, and honestly, I never doubted him.
He wasn’t a rock, he was a boulder—a forever solid, unmovable force, yet right now, he looked like a little boy, the same little boy I met for the first time after his mom died, and we had moved in.
I suppose even those who seem to have it all figured out are just as lost as those who wander.
In trying to divert the spotlight from himself, Lucas spoke again before we could respond, “So, before the adult toy store, what was your childhood dream, Alex?”
“I didn’t really have one,” I whispered to the floor.
“Jamie was the one who pushed me into writing after he stole my journal that first day of freshman year.” A wistful smile crossed my face.
But then, my expression fell, and I admitted, “Obviously, it was a pipe dream because the only thing I’ve written in the last year was a bad review of my Uber Eats driver. ”
Kayla’s eyes locked onto mine, and at that moment, I knew she would ask a question I didn’t want to answer. “What are you going to do when you see him?”
Pain. That’s all I felt. In my chest. In my lungs. In every cell that made my body function. Pain was the only sensation. “I don’t know.” I stared blankly through the hole of the glass bottle before me. “I guess I’ve been trying not to think too much about it.”
That was a lie. All I could do was think about it. How was I supposed to look at the boy I loved all my life in the eyes, knowing our fate was sealed? I traced the cold glass with the tip of my index finger. “Jamie was my compass, and without him, I can’t find my way home anymore.”
Lucas let out a soft, sorrowful sigh, “Maybe it is time to be your own map.”
“Thanks for the advice, Magellan.” I huffed.
But Lucas didn’t stop. “You know forgiveness doesn’t mean admitting defeat. It means you’re finally setting yourself free.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be.”